Moonlight: Bloodline Exposure
by Saffyvamp
Summary: What would you do if everything you ever knew was a lie? What would you do if your worst enemies were masquerading as your best friends? How could you live with yourself, knowing you abandoned your past in the blink of an eye? How can you look at yourself in the mirror and see a human…instead of a monster? How could you unravel the truth? (Rated T for language) - One-shot


MOONLIGHT: BLOODLINE EXPOSURE

PROLOGUE

What would you do if everything you ever knew was a lie? What would you do if your worst enemies were masquerading as your best friends? How could you live with yourself, knowing you abandoned your past in the blink of an eye? How can you look at yourself in the mirror and see a human…instead of a monster? How could you unravel the truth?

Every day I stare at my reflection, blinded in thought. Recently I learned I never stared alone. At the back of every mind is a seed of doubt we plant along with the seeds of hope. And no matter the situation, we can count on ourselves to pause in thought of that lone seed, secretly fearing that it's not a rose, but a weed, with the sole purpose of sucking the life from its enclosing competition.

CHAPTER ONE – BLOODLUST

The rain didn't bother me. Nor did it bother the son-of-a-bitch Lawson Braithwaite. I didn't care for much, but his "tailored Italian silk" suit and designer shoes could have fed a family of five several months over. Maybe I'm being overdramatic. But after shadowing the bastard for the past several weeks, I'd stake my life on the fact Braithwaite is no different than the power hungry, bloodthirsty Oscar Lionel!

I won't lie. My hands are stained with the blood of my competition. But there is a clear difference between Braithwaite and myself: he fights the competition to win. I fight to survive. Blurred as my vision was, it had nothing to do with the rain. And while I can't thank Braithwaite personally for making my life a living hell, he can take the damn message to his grave!

'Congratulations, Mr Braithwaite,' charmed his secretary, Louise Margaret, with a voice like maple syrup. It made my skin crawl.

'Louise, we share tonight's victory. Tomorrow morning will look all the brighter when we wake.'

'Are you planning to stay the night here, sir?'

'I haven't decided yet, Louise,' he sighed.

'Well, you deserve a break sir. Have a good night.'

'Enjoy your evening,' Braithwaite waved.

'Oh, Mr Braithwaite!' she gasped, spinning on the spot, sending her short, brittle brunette hair round in an unappealing twist. 'Before I forget, a Mr Hendricks called. He said it was urgent he spoke with you, but you were in your meeting, so I took a message.'

Inspecting the scrap of paper handed to him, the British bastard smiled warmly. If you'd just met the man, you'd never believe he was anything close to criminal. As I have learned, appearances can be frightfully deceiving.

'Thank you, Louise,' he praised, to which I rolled my eyes. 'But it's alright. I'll take care of it in the morning.'

'As you wish, sir,' she smiled, bidding him goodbye with a wave I knew to be flirtatious, as she collected her case from the side of her desk, and her keys from the top right hand draw.

Eyeing him sideways as he waited for his naïve secretary to depart, he braced his hands on the desk before him as if to support himself. As soon as she turned the corner, passing half a dozen handsome black marble columns, Braithwaite turned on his heels so fast one might have mistaken him for performing a pirouette. The chime of the elevator echoed along the abandoned corridor before being overruled by the frosted glass doors Braithwaite forced apart; it wouldn't be unlike catching two of his employees kissing behind his back.

Even half way down the hall, I could hear his feet pacing back and forth as he muttered incoherently. There was a sought of zapping ping. Voices drowned his feet instantly.

'– _and the police have still not released a statement concerning the suspected murder of Oscar Lionel. Our sources have revealed that the business executive had lost his head. Literally,'_ stated the perky presenter, with her usual dramatic flair.

'Oh, shut up, you bitch!' Braithwaite snapped, silencing the newswoman as he continued to pace.

I vaulted through the vented window between the marble columns and crept towards the office doors. Flashes of colour blared through the frost. I wasn't sure how I felt about him admiring my handiwork. It didn't take me long to decide I didn't care.

'_Hendricks,'_ a tired voice heaved.

'Carl, is this a joke?'

'_Lawson! God! Good, God, no! No, Oz is dead!'_

'The news said the police hadn't released a statement.'

'_How would you explain the assailant snuck inside one of the most secure facilities in Britain and survived a thirty storey drop?'_

Momentarily, the pacing stopped. There was a muffled creaking squeak, the kind leather made when you sat and shifted in the cold.

'It was them, wasn't it?'

'_Who else on Earth could it be? How they found out, I don't know.'_

It took me less than a second to ease through the gap in the doors and dart into the en-suite bathroom. I had to blink it was so bright and clean. I'd have been disappointed if I'd witnessed anything less.

Braithwaite gulped harshly. 'You don't think Tom –'

'_If he talked, we'll never know, Lawson. He's gone. He's dead. They both are. We have to move on. We have to activate the next stage, now, before it's too late!'_

'If Oz didn't talk, then what's the rush? We've got plenty of time.'

'_We can't know for sure. That's why Salazar wants to relocate –'_

'I'm _not_ going back to Australia, Carl. And who put that lizard in charge? You know his brother was a –'

'– _a Werewolf, I know,'_ the old man wheezed. _'I also know he killed his brother a long time ago.'_

'You didn't answer my question.'

'_He appealed to the Council after Tom's death. They didn't listen. Of course, now, they'd look foolish if they didn't bring him on board.'_

'I'll die before I work for that damn bastard!' Braithwaite swore.

'That can be arranged,' I smirked.

_'Lawson? Lawson, are you there?'_

'Huh? Oh, yeah, I just thought…never mind.'

'_Get your head back in the game, Lawson!'_

'This isn't a game, Carl! The dead are a plague we need to exterminate! Werewolves, Vampyres – the whole lot of them – they'll burn in Hell, mark my words! I'm not moving from this island, and that damn lizard –'

'_That "damn lizard" is one of the oldest and most powerful Warlocks alive!'_ Carl stressed as Braithwaite span round in his overprice leather armchair to face the tear littered window panes. _'For goodness sakes, man! He has centuries on us!'_

They continued arguing as I rose and stalked into Braithwaite's office. Fifty yards…forty yards…thirty…twenty….fifteen…ten – I unsheathed one of the greatest gifts ever bestowed to me. The legend that silver bullets kill Vampyres is just that: a legend. They don't kill werewolves, either, but any measurement of silver will burn the skin of any soul that isn't human in heart, and Braithwaite was as close to being human as I was to being an Angel.

'See you in Hell,' I bid.

Braithwaite turned in place. His pupils expanded, paralysing him from the neck down so it appeared, and with a flourish of my blade, Braithwaite knew no more. The sheen of metal echoed like a mother's lullaby in my ears. I wallowed in the foreign comfort as I turned his chair to face the window panes once again.

'I'll tell you now, Braithwaite: the Gods aren't crying for you. They cry _because_ of you.'

His head hadn't moved a millimetre; still, blood trickled down over his once snow white shirt collar, like the tears of the children he slaughtered without a qualm. His eyes were still wide with shock. No one knew, apart from him – and the fellow deceased – that his attacker had once been a work of their art. How the tables had turned. I smiled at the irony. The dead have long since been rumoured to never utter a syllable. But yet, I stand before them fully functional.

'– _exactly according to plan, understand?'_ Carl preached, his orders falling on deaf ears. _'Lawson? Lawson. Lawson, for goodness sake answer me!'_ he roared.

'Bye, bye,' I smiled, removing Braithwaite's Bluetooth to crush beneath my foot.

The silence was a deafening blessing. I could think. I could breathe. I inspected my blade to find it crying as if it were a child. In some respects, I am still a child, yearning for the days of innocence so wrongfully denied to me by the murderers I once called family. To echo my father kissing my forehead before I slept, I pressed my lips against my blade and licked its length satisfactorily. From a side pocket, I pulled a simple rag and wiped away Braithwaite's tears. I had tasted revenge. It didn't taste sweet as much as it tasted sharp, but that could just be the silver burning my tongue.

Once again, I stared at my reflection and sheathed my blade. As far as I was concerned, the night was still young. And unlike so many of my brethren, so was I. As I exited the larger-than-life office, my pocket vibrated. I pulled out my phone, momentarily marvelling at how far technology had come. Lazily, I scrolled to my inbox. I had a single text.

_They left Europe for their brother._

'I know I'm a Witch, but that doesn't make me wicked,' I drawled on a sigh, stashing my phone back in its home. It looked like my freedom would have to wait a while.

CHAPTER TWO – A HUMAN'S TOUCH

I had better things to do than inhale overly buttered popcorn, but it'd been a while since I'd seen _Dirty Dancing_. And the air conditioner felt like heaven in this heat. Admittedly, I enjoyed myself more than should. I practically left my seat when the movie froze. And I wasn't the only one. Cries of uproar woke my target three rows below.

_Beth Turner: civilian investigator employed by ADA Benjamin Talbot; currently involved with Mick St. John, a Private Detective._

His name always made me smile. Who would think of a Vampyre as a Saint?

'What? Wait. What –'

'You fell asleep, Beth,' the Saint smiled.

I envied her, the way his arm curved round her shoulders to unite her head with his chest; her embarrassed apology was absorbed by his shirt, not his ears.

'I may have Bat ears, Beth, but even I can't hear that.'

'I said I was sorry,' she groaned.

Even as the Jane and Joe public filed out of the cinema, they were kissing, the kind of adoration and patience people dream about finding in their missing half. Finally, they stood and left arm in arm, Beth's head resting on his shoulders. She looked exhausted; even from across the room, I could tell those shadows hadn't appeared over night. Like _Mary's Little Lamb_, I followed a safe distance behind. Truthfully, they weren't any more or less interesting that Braithwaite. But they were bearable. I just had to bide my time and wait. But, I'd never did like leaving things to chance.

'I'll make it up to you, I promise,' Beth vowed, and I could tell she meant it.

'I'm taking you home, Beth, and you're going to go straight upstairs to bed.'

'You're not my father.'

The Detective shuddered. 'Now there's a disgusting thought.'

'You have a dirty mind, Mick,' she teased; her tone was sultry but languished.

'By tomorrow, you won't have a mind left if you don't sleep.'

Vampyres do have hearts. It's just we choose not to use them. Mr St. John was a gleaming exception. Beth's smile was ladled with appreciation as she ducked into his Mercedes Convertible. He leaned through the open window, pressing a single kiss against her lips, before speeding round to the driver's side. Anyone else would have seen a blur of black, with his clothes, at the most. But I am not most people. With that said, what took the Detective a half hour drive took me a five minute run. I won't lie. Vampyres are notorious cheaters.

Smartly dressed (as always), Frank opened the polished steel doorframe that enclosed a commemorative pattern in glass. I bid my thanks and made myself scarce. Patience was always a virtue I'd been told I needed to work on, but when Mick arrived with Beth on his arm I put those memories to bed.

'Back so soon, Mick?' Frank inquired.

'The film finished earlier than we expected,' he replied, fully aware of the heat radiating from Beth's cheeks.

For reasons unknown, the elderly seemed to touch the hearts of everyone they conversed with. I was no exception to the 58yr old; his tired face showed retirement would never come soon enough, not in this economy.

Their whispers made me think of the late night gossiping I'd done with my sister. We'd practiced Magick under the protective cover of our fort stationed on the carpet of our bedroom.

'Beth, stop worrying. Ben's lucky to have you onboard and you know it.'

'This case is eating him alive, Mick. And it's not even been –'

'Far be it for me to cramp your style, but look at it with fresh eyes in the morning,' he advocated.

'I'm too tired to fight you,' Beth hummed, her voice flowing from deep in the back of her throat, a primeval growl if you will.

With an oiled CLUNCK the elevator doors opened, and the Saint held them in place as he kissed his date. His resolved crumbled as they slid between the doors and their passion became a fever I was, unfortunately, immune to.

I conquered the stairs long ago. The trip to the top floor didn't take more than a minute. I'd barely inched the door open when the elevator eased to a stop with another oiled CLUNCK. Deeply, I inhaled. Their racings hearts didn't affect me as much as they used to – not them specifically – but I couldn't help but lick my lips. Few things are more important to a Vampyre than blood. Alas, I restricted my diet long ago. A good thing, too, but my brethren wouldn't agree.

'M-Mick…?' Beth blew out on a breath.

His heart had grinded to a halt even before he eased into the deserted corridor. 'Shush,' he ushered, placing a strict finger against his lips, before reuniting his view to the door at the end of the hall, his hand on his holster.

Five steps later, with Beth edging forth in close pursuit, the stench hit him. It was nice to see he was as confused as I. Whatever, or whoever, had paid a visit wasn't well. The aroma of blood twisted with the wafting scent of decay smelled oddly familiar, but it was clear – with St. John's concern – that it was completely foreign to him. Inching his head round, he gestured for an orderly retreat back to the elevator. Step by step, Beth complied and pressed for the faithful servant. Cautiously, Mick followed her. The friendly CLUNCK resounded and decay flooded my lungs, which meant Mick must have nearly drowned.

He'd gotten one over me. It wouldn't happen again, that was a promise. Had he used the blood to smother his scent? I had silver for that. It just goes to show you that paranoia never really goes out of style.

'Lance,' Mick drummed; his anger was on par with his fear.

'Mick,' he nodded, his arms braced against the doors imprisoned at the pressure of his palms.

You didn't have to be a genius to envision the sparks between the two alpha males. Beth's eyes repeatedly drew towards Lance's black eye. He always made me think of a shark, a soulless monster blinded be the desire to consume…until his eyes rolled over white to feast. But, like I said, appearances can be frightfully deceiving, and in the silence, Lance's fear magnified. He stood straight and tall, despite being an inch or two shorter than his brother.

'Where is she?' he thundered softly with surprising calm.

'You're chasing Coraline again?' Beth sprang without thought.

Stuck in a similar state of mind, Lance forced them to dive aside in his mad dash to the apartment door. Breaking the lock was as hard as breathing for Lance, and right now…he was holding his breath. Suddenly, he inhaled, reunited with a sense of calm and peace, although I knew it was strained, most likely weighted down by the foul mixture of blood and decay floating into the hall.

Whatever pulled Mick to follow his older brother must have been strong, but naught a second passed before his ex-wife's name left his lips in a panic that made even Beth tremble. To fear for her competition…I needed a better view. I slammed the stair door shut and regretted it instantly. Half a second later, I was on the roof watching Lance from the skylight scanning the stairs. He'd restrained himself from covering his nose with his free hand while the other yanked the door shut, locking it, before he broke off the handle.

'What's ruffled your feathers, my friend?' I whispered, walking in sync with the giant as he stormed back down the hall towards the lovers' apartment.

'We have to go,' he exploded. The force behind his voice to keep his tone calm was inspiringly impressive…and worrying all the same.

Splayed out on the sofa, Coraline Duvall had obviously slept where she'd fallen. Her hair was tussled and her skin as pale as a porcelain doll. My reason for being so pale, not that it mattered, lay within my addiction to silver. Coraline didn't have that excuse, and neither did her older brother. Thank-fully, they weren't related by blood. That would have just made the world a weirder place than it already was.

To become a Vampyre, one must be sired with their "father's" (or mother's) blood. This isn't what connected Coraline, Lance, and his ex-brother-in-law, Mick. They were members of the Brotherhood (Coraline was a late addition, Mick even more so) tasked with protecting something christened the "Mortal Cure", of which they had all ingested at one point or another. And with one look at Coraline, it was clear their livelihood was no longer a secret. The Brotherhood no longer existed.

Mick reminded me very much of Braithwaite as he paced back and forth. Beth sat opposite their uninvited guests, occasionally daring to catch one or the other's eye. Lance had seated himself beside his sister who hadn't the energy to blink, let alone speak. Her grumble of a greeting to her ex-husband hit home and heart of the hosts. Lance had explained their situation brashly: the Mortal Cure was in the hands of their greatest enemy. Only the Legion (a cult of sorts, powered by racial purists) could ever strike fear into Lance's frozen heart. And if Salazar had gotten hold of our greatest asset…in short: the Legion could reverse the Siring of any and all Vampyres, leaving them as vulnerable mortals. It, however, seemed to come with a devastating side effect that Coraline modelled effortlessly.

'You expect us to just turn tail and run?' Mick ravaged, still pacing.

'As my brother I have an obligation to offer you, and Bethany, sanctuary.'

'What about the dozens of hundreds of Vampyres left –'

'If a war comes, and it will, we can help them, but only if we have time to prepare.'

'And if they shoot us with your cure we'll turn into frozen couch potatoes like Coraline?' he jabbed. 'No offence,' he added.

'None…taken,' his ex-wife wheezed.

'Would calling Josef be a bad idea?'

'Yes –'

'No –'

Mick and Lance engaged in a short staring contest, oblivious to Beth's comment about how she'd never met a pair of brothers more alike and so incredibly different.

'Fine,' Lance snapped. 'Call the playboy and tell him the world's ending. He'll run and he'll take the fighting force of LA with him!'

'Then we'll go over and explain it to him,' Mick compromised. 'We'll tell him and him alone. No one else,' he purposefully reinforced. 'You can drop him wherever you want after we're done.'

Lance seemed to actually consider his brother's words. Meanwhile, my superiors wanted a word with him. Fleeing Europe was one thing, but divulging confidential controversial information – a tongue twister if there ever was one – was a step too far in the wrong direction. I received my order and took a three-way call (the wonders of technology) and watched their eyes dart to Mick's landline.

'Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the phone,' I begged, unintentionally crossing my fingers. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Lance stood first. 'We're going. Now.'

'What do you –'

'I smelled silver in the hall. The Legion knows where you live. Now pack up and leave. I'll meet you at Kostan Industries in – in half an hour.' A "neat trick" Vampyres can pull off is speaking in a frequency lower than what humans – and Legion Lap Dogs – can hear. It was the only reason he paused. He lifted Coraline into his arms and departed without another word.

'I spooked him,' I informed.

'_That's your first strike, Dahlia.'_

'I know how the system works. I'll get him on the phone, one way or another,' I promised, not hesitating to hang up.

Briefly, I watched Beth aid Mick in raiding their secret stash of weaponry – including stakes – and hurling clothes into a duffle bag each before my attention wavered. I sat on the rooftop, glancing back through the skylight windows to catch a few tense words, a hug, a kiss, as I pulled my laptop from my backpack. An assassin prides themselves on flexibility, or so I've heard. Slim and lightweight, I didn't care what brand the black computer was. It got the job done. That was all I needed. I opened the alert. It took all my strength not to sink my fingers into the metal as I watched. My second strike had come and gone. The Legion was fighting back. How could I be so stupid? How could I focus entirely on my enemies and not my friends?

CHAPTER THREE – WITNESS MY REVIVAL

I rewound the recording. Apparently stalking family wasn't as pointless as I'd been told. The head office of Kostan Industries stood vacant of life. For a moment, I feared I'd rewound the video too far. That seed of doubt was uprooted as a set of doors opened in the distance. I widened my view on camera six to watch the Vampyre of the Month, Josef Kostan, walked down the corridor to his office. The mic recognition bounced. His footsteps obviously echoed down the hall. He was soon followed by another person: his private lawyer, Simone Walker.

'_We're en-route,'_ my contact assured.

'Sound your sirens if you have to. You're working against the clock,' I snapped, terminating our call.

I'd never had to call her before, but at least I had power over life and death this time.

'_Simone, please. You're too pretty to stand alone,'_ Josef flattered as he poured himself a stiff drink, closing the cabinet doors, hiding his wonderful assortments of alcohol.

From leaning against the deep violet walls, Simone sashayed over to her boss as he returned to his glass desk. The air of arrogance reminded me painfully of Braithwaite. I grounded my teeth, biting my tongue as I watched. Their playful banter was accompanied with Simone's teasingly pitiful attempt at massaging her boss' shoulders. I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat.

'_If you can truly convince me attending that meeting was worth cancelling poker night,'_ Josef scoffed, _'I'll fulfil a wish.'_

'_A wish…' _Simone confirmed. _'Any wish?' _she asked. _'Anything at all…?'_

'_Convince me,'_ he challenged with a supremely arrogant smile.

'_Your wish…is my command,' _she toyed, removing her hands to turn his chair so she could –

'Grow up, Simone,' I moaned aloud as she tongued her boss. I chanced a glance back to catch her crawling onto his lap. 'You're worse than Beth!' I scolded unimaginatively.

The microphones picked up a snarl of a hiss, followed by a moan. A glare confirmed my suspicions.

'I'll show you what it's like to feed on family, Kostan!' Luckily, Mick and Beth had already left otherwise my carelessness would have easily gotten me killed.

My temper calmed as Josef settled his lawyer into his chair; she almost purred when he licked the blood trickling down her neck.

'_Can you…take me home?'_ she sighed.

'_I'll get my keys and drive you,'_ he promised on a breath of a whisper; it was a wonder I heard anything at all! _'Five minutes…'_ He parted with a soft kiss to her lips, not unlike the blessing Mick administered to Beth through the window of his car.

'_If you take me home,'_ she breathed, _'and pick me up tomorrow…I'd never get to work!'_

They shared the laugh. My imagination swirled without permission.

'_What do you propose then, Miss Walker?'_ he flaunted, turning back to face his desk as he neared the hall.

'_You drive me home…in my car.'_

Josef frowned. _'Then how would I get back?'_

'_You'd call your limo, of course,'_ she smiled, standing. My heart softened at the concern that stabbed Josef's eyes. _'You have to get back to your freezer, anyway, so there's no risk of you shrivelling up in the sun.'_

'_I don't shrivel.' _

'_You don't sparkle, either,'_ she chuckled, running a tailored fingernail over his jaw as she passed.

'_I take it you don't need any help search for your keys, then.'_

'_They're right where I left them yesterday: in your penthouse. And before you ask,'_ she stormed ahead, _'if you follow, we both know I'd never get home.'_

'_You can't blame me for trying, Simone,'_ he forwarded. There was a growling undertone to his words as he grasped her wrist and spun her once to meet her lips. _'Five minutes,'_ he warned, _'or you'll have to leave without me.'_

'_You'd never let me drive home alone…'_ she blessed, running that same finger over his nose.

Josef took her hand a second time and brought her finger to his lips to kiss. _'Four minutes.'_

Stabbing her tongue out, Simone sashayed off down the dimly lit corridor – a dungeon came to mind – with a spring in her step even as she turned the corner.

Lost in thought, a hazard for most of the un-dead, Josef plummeted back to Earth as his phone rang.

'Mick St. John…' I heaved.

Josef collected the device absent mindedly, finally frowning when the caller's voice penetrated his brain. _'Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mick, slow down,'_ he pressed. I dropped the headset so it dangled around my neck. _'Look, can you just call me back?'_

It was clear he wasn't paying attention to Mick as he sat down and spun round to gaze at the city of Los Angeles at night. It was rather a bejewelling sight, I admit.

'_Mick, you've got five minutes before I leave so make it quick.'_

With time to spare, the microphones picked up footsteps heading straight for Josef's office. They, however, were heavier than Simone's…and they didn't echo. I pulled my headset back over my ears and brushed my hair aside. My flesh hissed in protest.

'_Ah, speak of the –'_

Josef swung round as he spoke. With a flash of silver, that took a matter of seconds to paint red, the sheen of my metallic lullaby erupted. His grip weakened and his phone fell, slamming to the floor.

'_You're the Devil,'_ the attacker cursed, sweeping out of sight.

'Traitor,' I snarled. 'That blade was a gift. And now it's become a pawn, just like you!'

I was packing up when Simone returned. Her blood curdling scream sounded like the ghost of a memory I would never forget. I told you my hands were stained with the blood of my competition. The fact remains that my first kill wasn't a rival. It was family. An act of hatred I've come to regret. But my bloodlust never wavered.

She didn't have to panic long. My contact arrived as promised and took her aside. The attacker had fled. It didn't matter where they'd gone. I knew where they would be. But it wouldn't be up to me to decide their fate. Our Master had that honour. A Master they betrayed without a second thought. History did have a way of repeating itself. The coincidence was too startling to be anything but a failure to learn, and not just on my part. My eyes scanned the city of LA. I could picture a soul nestled within each beacon of light, completely unaware and unprepared for the war rising over the horizon.

CHAPTER FOUR – THE OBSTACLE OF MEMORIES

Fortunately, the viewing booth only worked one way, just like the interrogation rooms on crime shows. Lying on his back, helpless, Josef looked worse than Coraline. I'd been told she wasn't doing well. If she restrained herself to the bare minimum of exercise and sunlight exposure, she might last a few months. Josef, however, had a week to accommodate his silver stitches. I could sympathise with him. He wasn't used to sitting – or lying – still. He could thank the support collar clasped round his neck for that.

'He'll be able to remove the collar in two weeks, and the stitches will eventually dissolve into his flesh…but he'll be scarred for life. If you hadn't called –'

'I shouldn't have had to, Anne,' I speared.

_Anne (no recorded surname): LA Cleaner – disposal expert – employed by the Authoritarian Guard. Known widely for her discipline and fascination for leather… _

'Josef will survive, Dahlia.'

'Yes, but will his pride?' I defeated without intention.

'When was the last time you slept?' she settled.

'I have a traitor to catch.'

'You've informed the Guard. They trusted you –'

'And look where that got them –'

'– so trust them!' Anne confronted, turning me by my shoulders. 'We need you here until the situation's resolved. I'm in no place to give you orders, but you're no good to us if you can't concentrate.'

'I don't need another mother, Anne.'

'I'm not trying to replace her. But someone has to be the voice of reason. If you won't listen to me, talk to sister, your niece; Hell, talk to Lance if you have to!'

'Speaking of Lance,' I swerved, 'did you find out what was poisoning Coraline?'

Satisfied, Anne lowered her arms. 'Yes, we did,' she answered, turning to pace down the hall to view a separate room in which Lance stood motionlessly in the farthest corner from his sister. 'You could say her condition is similar to a mortal with cancer.'

'It'll return even if she's cured?'

'We can't say for certain. We can't say anything for certain. They've weaponized the Cure. It'll take time to process an antidote.'

'Time we don't have…'

'You read my mind.'

'Great minds think alike.' I didn't hide the smile that crept across my face; it faded, however, when I caught Lance staring in our direction.

'He can't see us, Dahlia.'

'He can smell me,' I countered. 'He can smell my hair.'

'Everyone in the building can smell your hair,' she corrected, doing her utmost not to choke. 'What did staining it silver get you, again?'

'Answers,' I nodded. 'And pain.'

'"Assailant Zero AKA Karma: a former successor to the Authoritarian Guard now employed by the Legion as a Vampyre slayer,"' Lance read with a dry tone. 'Is there anything else you care to add?'

'No.'

'It isn't healthy to hold onto the past, Dahlia.'

'I think you're the one still in denial, Lancelot.' It hurt he was still one of the few – Anne included – who didn't flinch at my voice or back away from my stench.

'Then why are you here?'

'Whether Coraline survives or not, we need to create an antidote or I'll be burying you alongside her.'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

'I'm not a Sadist, Lancelot.' _You just wanted me to be._ 'But when your sister wakes, tell her she'll be dead within the month.'

'Dahlia –'

I turned the corner without a word, but my heart screamed for his company…his touch, a luxury I denied myself long ago. Sacrifice isn't supposed to be easy. I'm paying for my crimes, one at a time, until my soul is left as bait for the Devil to – I span back. Who needed to sleep to focus when you could think on the job?


End file.
